


Christmas Spirits

by Lenny9987



Category: Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 13:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8981761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenny9987/pseuds/Lenny9987
Summary: This is my Secret Santa Outlander Fanfic gift for zoe1078 over on Tumblr.





	1. With Snow Upon the Ground

_As the words were spoken, they passed through the wall, and stood upon an open country road, with fields on either hand. The city had entirely vanished. Not a vestige of it was to be seen. The darkness and the mist had vanished with it, for it was a clear, cold, winter day, with snow upon the ground._

* * *

December 25, 1767 12:01 am

 

Claire didn’t usually wake once she’d fallen asleep for the night––not since they’d started settling the ridge and every moment of the day was spent securing food and provisions, reinforcing their shelter, and otherwise preparing to endure what was shaping up to be a rough first winter. The first snow had fallen early before quickly melting away, but despite Jamie’s reassurances that they wouldn’t have a more significant snowfall until at least January, Claire had lived twenty years in Boston and knew the way the air felt when snow was coming.

At first she thought that it was the wind that had roused her––a harbinger of what lay ahead. She slipped from bed, wrapping her shawl around her shoulders and shivering as her feet made contact with the freezing floor. It wasn’t possible to see the night through the oilskins Jamie had used to cover the windows so she shuffled her way out of their small bedroom and into the larger main room of the cabin.

Ian lay curled with Rollo on the floor before the hearth. It was the warmest spot in the entire cabin and both slept deeply oblivious even to the noise Claire made as she lifted the latch on the door and peeked out at the moonlit night.

It was quiet and still. No wind in the trees or clouds overhead. The moon was bright in the sky and she could count the stumps where Jamie and Ian had felled the trees to build their cabin. It was a small clearing but come spring they would dig up the stumps, clear the soil of any large stones, and begin planting their first crops.

She slipped through the door, leaving it slightly ajar rather than risk locking herself outside in the freezing air. There was enough light to see the way her breath clouded in front of her nose and she could feel the cold seeping into her toes; she wouldn’t be able to stay out too long if she wanted to avoid frostbite and hypothermia but she needed that frosty atmosphere to reinforce her grasp on the present, to dismiss the dreams and memories that clung to her tired mind. It was cold enough for tears to prick her eyes and her nose began to run. She wiped at it with the edge of her shawl before pulling the warm wool tighter around her shoulders and across her chest.

“Is something wrong, Sassenach?” Jamie whispered, coming up silently behind her and wrapping his arms around her.

She lifted the edges of her shawl so he could tuck his hands in between her arms and her sides.

“Happy Christmas, Jamie,” she replied before sniffing loudly and moving her head to wipe it once more against her shawl.

“Ye think it’s after midnight?” He shuffled closer against her and she could hear the rasp of his bare feet on the frozen earth. He hadn’t begun shivering yet but it wouldn’t be long.

“I’m sure it is. I think that’s why I woke. It’s one of those days when I can’t help it,” she explained with a yawn.

“One of those days when ye miss Brianna a bit more ye mean.”

She nodded.

“Ye mark it differently in yer time,” he observed.

Claire smiled faintly. “Quite––especially in America.”

“How?”

“It’s everywhere. On the television, in shop windows, on the radio. Most of December became about getting ready for Christmas––buying presents, decorating the house, going to holiday parties.” She sighed. “But it was magical to watch her enjoy it all. She insisted on helping to bake treats to leave for Santa and made sure we set out some carrots for his reindeer too.”

Jamie made a noise of approval. “Kind… takin’ care to think of the animals like that.”

“She is, especially when she was younger. She would make decorations herself, too. Every year we had to go to the shop to get the right colored paper and paste so she could make chains to strew about the house and fold and cut the white paper into snowflake shapes for the windows. One year, she was overzealous with the scissors and cut through too deep, sliced the palm of her hand and had to get stitches––proved to be about as patient an invalid as someone else I know,” Claire teased bumping back against Jamie.

She could feel how cold he was becoming––how cold she was becoming.

“We should go back inside. Snow’s coming,” she told him. “We’ll have a white Christmas yet.”

They quietly made their way back inside. Rollo stirred briefly, raising his head and watching as Claire and Jamie disappeared back into their small room before resting his head on his paws once more.

“Did ye often have snow on Christmas?” Jamie asked when they were safely under the covers.

“It wasn’t uncommon. They made for cozy Christmases. Brianna would be awake before the sun was up though she was barred from actually opening anything until Frank and I had a chance to wake up and get downstairs.”

“Ye didna torture the lass by stayin’ in bed, did ye Sassenach?”

Claire scoffed. “As if Bree would let me. No, every five minutes she’d traipse through the bedroom asking if she could put the lights on for the tree or could she just peek in her stocking. I would have let her but Frank was a stickler for tradition. He had to be up and dressed with his breakfast coffee in hand before putting on the lights and handing Bree her first present. She and I always had hot chocolate with gingerbread for breakfast on Christmas morning.”

“And had ye a feast––or was that the other day ye mentioned?”

“Thanksgiving––that always fell around Bree’s birthday. But I did _try_ to make something special––or at least pick something up from the shop––to have for Christmas dinner. It was never as good as the feasts in the Christmas stories though with their roasted goose or glazed ham, cakes and breads and puddings.”

Jamie’s stomach rumbled loud enough for both of them to hear. Jamie’s hand covered Claire’s mouth to muffle her laughter while he turned his own head into the pillow. The mattress sagged beneath them as their laughing shook the bed and loosened its ropes. Finally Jamie recovered enough to reach for his stash of stale bannocks.

He sighed as he chewed and swallowed.

“Does she have anywhere to go for it now?” he asked shamefully. “I hate to think ye canna be wi’ her––”

“Joe won’t let her be alone,” Claire said with certainty. “And she has her school friends––who knows, maybe Roger or if not him, some other young man.”

“I hope so. She ought to have someone.”

“Like I have you?” Claire asked turning into him and slipping her arm around him so she could press her cheek to the softness of his well-worn shirt.

“Aye. And I you.” She could hear the smile in his voice and felt the whisper of his breath on her hair as he nestled his face in her curls. “Do ye think ye’ll be able to sleep now, _mo nighean donn_? Or will yer dreams be visited by ghosts of Christmases past?”

Claire chuckled.

“Did I say something funny?”


	2. Not Unlike Plenty's Horn

_Heaped up on the floor, to form a kind of throne, were turkeys, geese, game, poultry, brawn, great joints of meat, suckling-pigs, long wreaths of sausages, mince pies, plum puddings, barrels of oysters, red-hot chestnuts, cherry-cheeked apples, juicy oranges, luscious pears, immense twelfth-cakes, and seething bowls of punch, that made the chamber dim with their delicious steam. In easy state upon this couch, there sat a jolly giant, glorious to see, who bore a glowing torch, in shape not unlike Plenty’s horn…_

* * *

December 25, 1767 12:00 pm

 

Rollo barked and startled Ian out of his doze.

“Thought ye might sleep the day away,” Jamie remarked with a laugh. “Didna ken going to feed and care for the horses was such an exhausting chore.”

Ian frowned as he reached down to scratch Rollo between the ears.

“Just because you felt like going out in the wee hours of the morning when a storm was coming doesn’t mean everyone is crazy enough to risk getting stranded,” Claire teased Jamie.

“With how it’s coming down out there now I’d ha’ thought ye’d be grateful to have the bird on hand for cooking. It may take all day to roast it proper but we’ll no be raidin’ yer stores wi’ a bird like that to feast on,” Jamie responded with pride.

Ian’s stomach growled as he turned to see the wild goose’s progress on the spit in the hearth. The outer flesh had begun to brown and a pan beneath the roasting bird was half full of drippings––“for gravy,” Auntie Claire had said. The smell made his mouth water.

“What made ye decide to go out huntin’ this morning, Uncle Jamie?” Ian asked. He needed to find something to distract himself from the thought of how delicious that bird would taste when it was finally thoroughly cooked––he would’ve been tempted to eat it now he was so hungry but Auntie Claire was meticulous when it came to making sure foods were cooked all the way through without concern for how hungry he might be at the moment.

She must have heard the rumbling in his stomach for she went to her little pantry and returned with some bread and cheese to help tide them over.

“For one, we needed game sooner or later and it wasna snowing verra bad just then,” Jamie defending his actions though he addressed his remarks more to Claire than to Ian.

“But it couldna ha’ been an easy bird to bag.” Ian looked at the size of the goose and the way it had looked slung over Uncle Jamie’s shoulder with a fine coating of snow obscuring some of the blood drying on its feathers. He had picked it up by its feet and presented it to Auntie Claire who had laughed with tears in her eyes at the scene, then scolded Uncle Jamie to get it back outside before the snow and blood made a mess of the floor and drew wolves to the house. An hour and a half later, the bird had been plucked, gutted, and threaded on the spit with Auntie Claire’s herbs and butter rubbed hard into its skin.

“Well, yer auntie woke wi’ a craving for goose so I thought I might oblige her,” Jamie said with a wink for Claire, “it being Christmas and all.”

“Is it really?” Ian asked reaching across the table for a warm bannock. He desperately needed something in his stomach or they’d all hear its rumbling over the smell of the roasting bird.

“You mean to tell me you didn’t realize it was Christmas?” Claire asked with disbelief.

“I kent it was getting on in December,” Ian responded lightly, “probably near Hogmanay but out here the days all blend a bit, one into the next, ken? And the weather doesna make me think of Christmas; more January.”

Claire laughed and shook her head. “Well get used to Christmases like this,” she advised.

“I can certainly get used to celebrating Christmas with a goose like that,” Ian remarked staring hungrily at the roasting bird and causing his aunt and uncle to laugh. “How much longer before it’s ready for eating?”

“We’ll find something to fill the time till then,” Claire promised.

Ian groaned. “Ye’re no goin’ to ask me to clear the path to the barn again are ye? I’m like to freeze my nose off.”

Though Jamie opened his mouth––probably to tell him that was exactly what he thought Ian ought to do––Claire spoke first. “Of course not––not on Christmas and certainly not in this weather. I was thinking we could come up with some sort of game to play.”

Ian looked to Jamie who was watching Claire’s playful smile.

“Not chess,” he requested. “I’d rather go out in the storm.”

It was uncertain whether it was the wind or Jamie’s laugh that shook the walls.

* * *

“Are ye some sort of animal?” Jamie asked.

“Aye,” Ian answered then turned to Claire.

“Are you a mammal? That is… do you have fur?”

Ian blinked before responding. “Aye.”

“What color’s yer coat?”

“Only ‘yes’ or ‘no’ questions,” Claire reminded him.

Jamie rolled his eyes. “Do ye have a brown coat?”

“No.”

“Are you a raccoon?” Claire asked. “The one with the stripes on its tail.”

“Aye! One of the wee bandits wi’ the mask on its face,” he agreed then turned to look over at the goose.

It’s skin was beginning to crisp nicely and Auntie Claire had made them stop playing charades an hour ago so they could start preparing the trimmings for the goose. She mixed a bit of flour with the drippings and added a few of her herbs to the sauce it made. She set Ian to slicing and toasting bannocks before spreading a little of her precious butter on them. Jamie was in charge of slicing some of the root vegetables Claire had gathered and stored while he and Ian had worked on erecting the cabin; as soon as they were adequately sliced, they found their way into a skillet with a little more of Claire’s butter.

Claire chuckled as she crossed to the hearth. Using a knife, she sliced into the goose to see that it was thoroughly cooked.

“Please tell me the goose is cooked,” Jamie begged. “I dinna think I can take much more of him starin’ at it like that.”

“It’s ready,” Claire announced. “Ian if you wouldn’t mind setting the table.”

“Good, because if ye asked me to think of another thing for the two of ye to ask questions and guess on, I would ha’ picked a goose,” Ian declared jumping up and grabbing the plates and knives they would need.

“Given it’s Christmas, would ye mind waiting to fill yer gob until after someone has said Grace,” Jamie requested a few minutes later as Ian quickly and eagerly piled food on his plate.

He glared briefly at his uncle but sat back in his chair waiting.

“God bless us, every one,” Claire cried out with a self-satisfied smile. “Now go ahead and eat while it’s hot.”


	3. The Spirits of All Three

_I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year. I will live in the past, the present, and the future. The spirits of all three shall strive within me. I will not shut out the lessons that they teach._

 

* * *

 

 

December 25, 1767 11:59 pm

 

Jamie woke gently, confused.

Claire’s arm was draped across his chest, her body turned towards him, and the bridge of her nose pressed to the curve of his shoulder. Her steady breathing raised goosebumps along his arm. He wondered what she would make of the dream he’d just had but didn’t want to wake her.

Instead stared up at the ceiling and walked himself through the dream again, trying to make sense of it.

Lallybroch––he would recognize the yard and house anywhere, even buried in snow as it had been in his dream… buried the way the little cabin where he now lay safe and warm beneath the blankets with Claire was buried.

Two children were playing in the snow with a tall, broad, dark-haired man. The lass had dark, curly hair while the lad’s hair was as vibrant of his own.

Jenny, Willie, and Da. That had been his first thought, that it wasn’t a dream so much as a memory from when he was small. But Jenny’s hair had never been that curly and when the man laughed it wasn’t his father’s laugh and when the man turned his head and Jamie saw his face, it was that of a stranger.

Then the woman had come to the door to call them inside and she looked just like his mother, her face even lit with excitement when she saw him watching them.

He hadn’t noticed their clothes before but they weren’t right––it was obvious when the woman came running out of the house towards him. She wore something like breeks but they were longer. Of course, as he stood puzzling out what they were the two legs merged into a homespun skirt.

The children turned to watch their mother and, spotting Jamie, squealed with delight. As they ran to him, their clothes also shifted into something more recognizable. The dark-haired man (most decidedly _not_ Brian Fraser) smiled and nodded to him.

He blinked before the red-haired woman threw her arms around him and Lallybroch vanished. Instead, the five of them stood in the snow out on the Ridge. He closed his arms around the young woman for just a moment––long enough for her to whisper ‘Merry Christmas,’ in his ear before he woke and the dream dissolved.

“Are you all right?” Claire whispered against his skin. He turned to look at her watching him through one open eye, the other still shut tight against consciousness.

He smiled and rubbed the arm she had draped over him and noting how chilly her feet were where she’d snuck them between his calves.

“Aye,” he assured her. “Just a strange dream is all.”

“Something you ate disagreeing with you? Perhaps we should go for a Christmas ham next year instead of goose.”

“I dinna think that sow will last to next Christmas,” Jamie muttered. “Might be having ham for Easter dinner… or just a Sunday dinner in February.”

Claire chuckled and nuzzled his arm.

“So back to this dream… Do you want to talk about it?”

“I dinna understand it is part of it,” he murmured. “A mix of memory and something else, perhaps.”

“Memory? Of what?”

“Willie and Jenny playin’ in the snow at Lallybroch–– _maybe_. If it was them to start it wasna them by the end.”

Claire frowned, confused and groggy. “They transformed?”

“No––though their clothes did.”

“Their clothes? What were they wearing to start then?”

“Nothing I recognized. The woman I thought was my mam wore breeks but they turned to a skirt ‘fore she reached me.”

“She came at you? What was she trying to do to you?”

“She gave me a hug and told me ‘Merry Christmas.’ Seemed happy to see me––part of why I thought she was my mam at first––but her voice… wasna Mam’s. They all came running at me in the end, smiling and laughing. They kent me but I dinna recognize them.”

“Not yet, anyway,” Claire yawned. “Don’t some people say that our dreams are populated by the people we know or will know?”

He chuckled and looked up at the ceiling above their heads again. The snow lay at least two feet thick on the ground outside and the roof above. It was an insulating snow, trapping the heat inside and keeping them all cozy… for now. He would need to clear the roof in the next day or two if possible; didn’t want the weight to strain the beams and shingles or to melt and find its way inside––or worse yet, melt then refreeze in the cracks of the roof where it might make those cracks significantly larger.

How many more families would be living on the Ridge by the next Christmas? By the Christmas after that? Right now it was just the few of them and part of him longed to keep it that way, longed to keep Claire all to himself; they had each been through so much in their years apart and since she’d come back things had hardly been uneventful. He wanted at least a little longer with her in the calm before the storm of life took up again.

Though the memory of the young family’s smiles as they saw him, the warmth of the woman’s arms as they embraced him…

“I dinna ken that I’ve ever heard _that_ before,” he said finally responding to Claire’s comment. but I’d like to think it’s as ye say. I didna recognize them but… I _felt_ I kent them…”

He looked down at Claire again but she had drifted off to sleep again. He reached over and brush a curl that fell across her face and threatened to tickle her nose.

It didn’t matter who came into or went from his life so long as Claire was there beside him to welcome them or bid them farewell.

Settling down again, Jamie wondered what or whom he might meet in his dreams.


End file.
